The house is clean, the dinner is made, and my prayers are complete. Yet this emptiness inside me is a different kind of hunger. My husband is away on another business trip, and the silence is so loud. I find myself scrolling through old messages, the ones I should have deleted, from a man online who saw right through my polite facade. He didn't want a perfect housewife; he wanted to know how wet my pussy gets when I'm alone, how my fingers feel when I slide them inside, imagining it's a stranger's thick cock instead. He made me describe the taste of my own cum on my fingers and the shameless noises I make when I finally come. The shame should consume me, but it only makes my cunt throb harder. This lonely, devout woman has a secret, dripping core that prays for sin.